


The Bleak Midwinter

by EllieL



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, Possible Character Death, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieL/pseuds/EllieL
Summary: In a world where Voldemort has won and Hermione is on the run, she finds her way to a cottage, where she meets someone she thought was dead.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Severus Snape
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17
Collections: Hearts and Cauldrons - Daily Prompts!, Hearts and Cauldrons Discord Members





	The Bleak Midwinter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a lovely cottage photo prompt from QDrew, that I’m sure she was assuming would turn into a lovely cottagecore story. I thought it was going to, too. Except this happened.

She stumbled through the snow on numb feet, limbs icy and half frozen, so cold she’d ceased to shiver half an hour ago. Now, she’d ceased to feel much of anything at all. Without her wand now, she couldn’t cast warming or drying charms on herself; even if she could, they could track her magic, and she’d be snapped up in minutes. Hiding amongst muggles had been an option initially, but she was now Undesirable Number One and there was a generous bounty on her head, making it unsafe to be hiding in plain sight even if she were content to live a normal life without magic.

So she tried to think of the most remote place she could, without having to take a ferry or leave the country--ferries were too much risk, and to leave the country she’d need papers, which had been gone long before her wand. Once, as a child, she’d seen a nature program on this area, so she’d slowly made her way here, hopping night trains, avoiding notice as best she could, until she’d reached the village miles back, and begun walking. In the bleak midwinter, it had been as empty and isolated as she’d expected, but even colder, windier, and snowier. The temperature had dropped precipitously as the sun had begun to sink, earlier here than it had farther south, turning the skies pastel hues of pink and violet.

What she hadn’t expected was the tiny cottage in the distance, dark stone against the snowy white landscape. Common sense told her to turn away, go the opposite direction, avoid at all costs. But it was getting dark, and she was more than half-frozen and in need of shelter. Odds were good there’d at least be a woodshed to shelter in for the night; maybe she’d get lucky and it would be abandoned--no smoke came from the chimney, and no light shone from the windows.

As she approached, though, there was a niggling feeling of worry. She told herself that it was just the cold, just her worry over survival and avoiding the Death Eaters now making her capture and death a government priority. Hunger, too, worried her, though at least here there was snow, and thus water. Given the location, it was impossible to sneak up on the cottage, so she walked right up the path to the front door. There were still no lights, or footprints in the snow, or any sign of life; but there were wards on the door, which she could feel as soon as she reached for it.

Before she could back away, the door swung open revealing a dark silhouette against the darkness of the cottage. There was a pause, and while she tried to see who this was--muggle or wizard, friend or enemy--she thought how she must appear to them, a skinny, dirty young woman with ratty hair and filthy, wet clothes. Then a large, strong hand was reaching out, pulling her into the darkness.

It wasn’t dark once she crossed the threshold, though. It was bright and warm and cozy, with plush furniture and a fire crackling in the grate. She was warm and dry too, suddenly, and spun to look at the dark figure who’d pulled her in. It took a full second to register what she was seeing.

“Professor Snape! But you’re dead!” She stumbled back, away from him, sure she couldn’t be seeing what her eyes were showing her.

“Miss Granger.” His voice was silky and deadly calm. After a second, he nodded towards one of the fireside chairs.

She did as bidden, sinking into a comfortable blue chintz chair and pulling the afghan off the back around herself without asking. Though it seemed like she should feel cold and uncomfortable, and even nervous about the sudden appearance of Severus Snape, she felt nothing. Nothing at all. 

“You were dead.”

“Yes.” He sat in the chair across from her, dressed as darkly as he ever had as her professor. In fact, had she walked into his dungeon classroom, he would not have looked at all out of place. She studied him, his pale face, his thin hair, all looking no different than she remembered him. He met her gaze impassively, until she couldn’t help but look away, around the cottage again.

It did not look like something one would use as a hideout; it looked like a cozy weekend retreat. There was a small wood table, bare of anything but a vase with dried heather, and a kitchen with blue wood cabinets and barren butcher-block counters. There was no kettle on the range, no toaster or breadbox on the counter, not a bottle or a cup or a plate in sight. No cloaks or coats by the door, no errant boots or socks near the bed. There were also, oddly, no books, no knicknacks, nothing at all indicating long-term habitation.

Her gaze returned to him, sitting placidly across from her. “How long have you been here?”

With a shrug, he answered, “Long enough.”

“It’s safe here?”

“It is not safe anywhere, Miss Granger.”

She looked around the cottage again. “I saw you die.”

“You did.” He stared at her, as if waiting. After a few minutes of silence, broken only by the crackling fire, he rose. “We should depart.”

“Depart,” she echoed.

“Yes,” he said, offering her his arm as she rose, dropping the blanket back onto the chair, and giving the fire a wistful look.

But she took his elbow, like a heroine from an Austen novel, and let him guide her to the cottage door. He didn’t hesitate as he reached for the door, but she did, drawing the, both to a halt to take a few deep breaths before she looked up at him and gave a little nod. The wooden door swung open soundlessly.

They stepped outside into a world where darkness had fallen.

*


End file.
